


Oops

by yeaka



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-16 23:24:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13064352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Silas polishes Panto’s sword.





	Oops

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Panto has always loved Silas’ mouth—it’s capable of such _lovely_ things, whether in the throes of passionate song or the poetic use of throaty words, but this is a new event entirely. It looks particularly perfect stretched wide around Panto’s cock, made a glossy pink by the dual slick of spit and precum. Panto has been right near the edge since Silas first dropped to his knees—there are days when the sight of Silas alone can make Panto hard, and Silas nuzzling against his crotch is almost too much to bear. Silas’ wet lips twitch as though to stretch into a smile, but they’re entirely too full to do so.

“ _Love you_ ,” Panto murmurs for what must be the umpteenth time, breath ragged and stilted. Silas always steals his breath away so completely. If his back weren’t up against a tree, he probably would’ve collapsed by now, so good are Silas’ vigorous attentions. Silas’ mouth is so stiflingly hot around him, throat so wondrously tight, and it ripples along his veins each time that Silas tries to swallow. When Silas hums, Panto tosses his head back, pink hair catching in the bark, and it takes everything he has not to buck his hips forward into his gorgeous lover’s face.

He lets one hand roam through Silas’ dark hair, but only one, because he fears if he used two, he’d hold Silas down too tight. The other braces back against the tree, knuckles nearly white as Silas plays him to his peak. When Silas begins to slip away, only to thrust quickly back on, corkscrewing into place over and over, Panto cries out in feverish moans. He’s always prided himself on stamina, on strength—but against Silas, he’s _weak_ , and he’s so painfully _in love_ that it makes him almost dizzy.

Silas swallows around him. Panto trembles, crumbling, begging, “Silas, my love—” And then Silas sucks him down right to the base and swallows so hard that all Panto can do is scream. He tenses before he comes utterly undone in a brilliant haze of white, spiraling into a whirlpool of _pleasure_. His orgasm is pure ecstasy. He spends himself down Silas’ eager throat, and Silas drinks it all without complaint. Silas even suckles on him afterwards, coaxing out every last drop that Panto can bear to give. His Silas is _wonderful._

His Silas is everything. And when Silas finally pulls free of Panto’s cock, leaving it wet and cold in the open air, Panto crumbles. His knees give out, causing him to slide right down the tree, until he’s landed in a disheveled heap, eye to eye with Silas. 

Silas, lips slightly swollen from overuse and eyes glistening with adoration, gives him a languid smile. Panto doesn’t have the words.

He reaches forward to grasp Silas’ face and pull it to him—they meet for a crushing kiss that tastes of bitter salt. Panto doesn’t care if it’s dirty to do so—he slips his tongue between Silas’ lips and kisses Silas as hard as he can manage around his own desperate pants for air. He can feel Silas chuckling against him.

When they break apart, Panto gushes, “You are amazing, my beloved, and a most gracious lover.”

“Thank you, love,” Silas answers, looking every bit the light of Panto’s life. “But how could I not, when you asked me so very politely? I never could deny your clever requests.”

“Requests?” Panto repeats, because he did no such thing, at least, not in regards to this. “But I made none.”

Silas abruptly frowns. He tilts his head rather cutely. “No—you did. You asked if I might be willing to aid in the polishing of your sword. ...It was indirect, I grant you, but as we spent so long unable to let our love be known, I am used to your careful words...”

Understanding dawns on Panto. He laughs, which give Silas a fond smile, though he must still be lost. Reaching for Silas’ hand and taking it to his lips to kiss, Panto clarifies, “I meant my scissors only. I was out of that brilliant polish that no one can produce so well as the Dengdamors, and I had hope to borrow some.”

Silas’ dark cheeks stain a lovely red, but he joins Panto’s laugh, shaking his head. Panto adds, “At least the miscommunication was my good fortune.” He pauses to give Silas another warm kiss, then finishes, “But I do promise to return the favour.” 

Silas grins and shuffles closer.


End file.
